The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1887-02-24

"thAt baf1 BttNCtlbCh uCI Huobald HUI
accepting the perilous honor. Ever,
mail had brought him letters by the doz
N. Whist had he done with those pages
upon which she had poured out hei
hearth Kept them ut first, and ther
he could not remember. She, on tn.
contrary. had guarded religiouslv every
scrap that he had written her-few
enough in the hurry and part of his
work. But this boarding of letters
proved nothing either-absoiutely
nothing. At that time. doubtless. she
vas ioval to him. He scornfully scat.
tered them upon the carpet. In the
drawer with the letters were some en-.
velopes, each marked with a date anc
containing a faded flower. He hac
found something at last.
Upon the first of them. the oldest Of
all, he read the date, January 26. 1S-,
the day that he was officially author;z.
ed TO pay his addresses-the day that
he sent her his first bouquet. He could
see it yet-a great bunch of lilacs, tea.
roses and japonicas. She had taken
from it rose and put it aside. She
had done the same with all that follow.
ed-those that he had given her on fete
DAYS and the anniversaries of theil
wedding-day. Sometimes it was a
sprig of heliotrope. an azalan blossom
or the velvet leaf of a camellia. They
were all there. these pitiful tokens OF
love and trust. lying in their shrouds OF
paper, dead-dead as she who had Sc
tenderly guarded them; dead as the
happy love of hours that were past and
gone.
1t seemed to Pascal, in his jealous
fury. that every thing c%onspired to re-
tard him in his righteous search. Seiz
ing the envelopes with passionate rage
he flung them into the fire; some fell
upon the hearth. some upon the Goals,
and these slowly crumbled away. He
had certainly not been happy in his re-
searches.
But there were still the armoire and
the cabinet de toilette-perhaps he
would find what he sought there. He
tossed the contents upon the floor, over
turned the linens, tumbled the cloth
ing. threw aside the handkerchief, and,
it is useless to say. found nothing.
Stay, L am wrong; there was
SOMETHING IN THE BOTTOM OF THE
DRAWER;
Something he had not expected to see,
and which filled his eyes with scalding
tears. 1t was a ..layette." a baby's
wardrobe. the tiny garments complete
in every detail. Months after marriage,
Christine had hoped to taste the Joys of
maternity. With what ardor, with
what fever of love she had worked at
these dainty vestments!
That hope had failed HIM also. His
throat frightened. he felt as if choking,
but he quickly recovered himself; moth.
ing should make him abandon his
search.
The clock on the mantle marked five
in the morning, but Pascal's excite
ment prevented his feeling fatigue.
Stretched upon her back, her pale form
scarcely distinguishable from the linen
of the pillows upon which she lay, the
dead woman impassively assisted in the
of disorder of which her chamber
had been the theater. the calm immo-
bility of face and figure forming a
contrast to the surrounding
Behind the doors of the cabinet de toll
cite were heaps of dresses and piles of
linens, and back in a corner
Of the shelf a jeweled casket. He had
forgotten it until now, yet it was there
she invar. ably concealed her valuabIes.
The key never left her; she carried it
her portemonnaie, the portemonnaie
of course was in the pocket of the
iress she had been wearing and which
vas now hanging across the chair at
lis elbow. He rushed to the dress. He
vas ashamed of the action. Neverthe-
ess did not hesitate. He slipped his
land into the pocket: the portemonnaie
there. and with it a piece of paper.
crackles beneath his fingers; perhaps
t is the letter! 1t is the letter-the
which had taken her out. 1t was
he envelop only that she had throw in
o the fire. At last. at last, he holds in
lis grasp the clew that will lead him to
lis vengeance. HIS hand closes upon
convulsively; he unfolds it; he stares
With amazement and makes an angry
1t is from Mad. Dumarais,
Christine's mother. No matter, he will
cad it. Nothing must be neglected
hat will lead him to that man-that
nan in the overcoat, with his hat over
lis eyes. and whom his wife had kissed
n the streets of Paris.
My dear daughter" wrote Mad.
)umarais, "good news has made me so
lappy that my neuralgia has gone.
where or why 1 know not; perhaps
lever to return. Louis has just this
moment arrived from Constantinople,
IS usual, without the least warning.
lie desires to see thee immediately.
Come at once. What happiness it will
Ne to have thee together! Louis regrets
hat thy husband is absent at Versail-
es. but will breakfast with thee to-
morrow. He has a surprise for Pascal.
he cross of the Grande Ordre.' a de-
of honor which the Sultan of
has created for those eminent
physicians who exposed themselves so
leroically in Syria. When they knew
hat Louis was returning to Paris they
'ntreated him to deliver it to his
,rother-in-law in person. But say not
word, it is a secret until they meet.
However, 1t is not all he brought. He
las an assortment of gorgeous stuffs